Caterpillars Can't Swim

by Liane Shaw

  “Totally. He slid down the main staircase railing and just missed kicking the bastard in his bald little head.” I grin at the memory. St. Clair looked like he was going to puke he was so pissed. Cody landed on the floor right at the old guy’s feet and just smiled at him like a big idiot. I seriously thought St. Clair was going to have a coronary.

  “I never heard about that. Cody sounds…interesting.”

  “That’s one word for him.”

  “Did he tell you that kids at school are talking about me?”

  “Yeah. But you know what kids are like. They’ll be all excited about this for a while and then they’ll find something else.”

  “In this town? I doubt it. I think I’ll be the conversation for a long time. What does everyone think I did?”

  “I don’t know what people think.” He knows I’m lying.

  “I don’t want them to think it. It makes me a freak. More of a freak.” He shakes his head.

  “You’re not a freak—any more than I am or anyone else is.” I point down at my leg braces. He puts his head on his knees.

  “I still can’t believe you actually threw yourself into the water to save me—some weirdo dancing around in a yellow skirt. Did you even know it was me? Could you see?”

  “No. I actually thought you were a girl. If I’d known you were a guy, I’d probably have just wheeled on home.” I smile so he knows I’m joking. Which doesn’t do much good because his head is still down.

  “Would have been better,” he says quietly, in that voice that makes my throat hurt.

  “I don’t believe that. Whatever shit is going on with you, I can’t believe that.” He lifts his head and stares at me.

  “I don’t know who I am. What I am. Why I am.”

  “Maybe someone can help you figure it out.” I sure as hell can’t.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know.” A doctor? His mother? A counselor? Anyone in the world but me?

  He doesn’t say anything else for so long that I begin to think he’s fallen asleep. That’s good. He needs his rest.

  “Hi, sweetie! Are you ready to go?” My mother’s voice suddenly breaks in to the silence as both our moms return to the room.

  “Yeah. We’re good,” I answer, a little too energetically. Jack kind of snorts. His mother notices and seems relieved, maybe because he’s sitting up instead of lying down looking at the ceiling.

  “Why is your phone in two pieces on the floor?” Mom asks, bending over to pick it up. Two pieces. Could be worse.

  “I dropped it. It looks like the back just came off. I’ll fix it.” She hands me the phone and takes off my brakes. She wheels me over to the door, touching Jack’s mom on the arm as we pass her.

  “Bye, Ryan,” Jack’s mom says. I smile at her politely.

  “Bye, Jack,” my mom says.

  Jack says nothing. He doesn’t smile politely.

  He’s back to counting his one hundred and eighteen and a half ceiling tiles.

  Nine

  “I think you should keep this chair. It’s seriously cool,” Cody says as he walks beside me, making sure we’re taking up the whole hallway, which means everyone is having to squeeze by while giving both of us dirty looks. This would be the only reason Cody is walking beside me. He enjoys pissing people off.

  “It’s big, noisy, and slower than you’d think for something that costs so much,” I answer, sounding like a pissed off Eeyore watching Tigger bounce. I feel like Eeyore these days. I’m pretty sure my dad managed to find the oldest electric chair ever made. It barely moves forward, and I’m fairly certain I’m the slowest person in the school right now. I don’t know why he couldn’t have rented one of the high-speed, all-terrain chairs so I could at least have some fun while I can’t swim. I’ve been back at school for three weeks now, creaking around in this geriatric chair because my stupid shoulder seems to have barely even begun to heal.

  The doctor checks it every week and tells me I’m “doing fine.” Fine. I hate that word. One of the most useless words in the dictionary. It’s the typical non-answer to everyone’s favorite non-question, “How are you?” Just a totally empty word that says absolutely nothing.

  The first week back was strange. People I’d never even noticed before were talking to me as if we were old friends. Most of the kids at school, with the exception of Cody and my brother, were treating me like a hero, which felt awkward and kind of cool at the same time. The reporters who called were totally focused on the whole crippled kid saves a life bit, which annoyed the hell out of me. I should have had them talk to Ricky instead of me. He would have set them straight on it.

  Everyone at school just wanted to know things like whether I was scared or how I hurt my arm. They asked me about the cops coming and reporters talking to me. A couple of girls even talked to me more than once, making me start to think that Ricky might be right about the positive effects of being a fake hero.

  They also asked about Jack. Over and over. How he “supposedly” fell in the water. Why I thought he was there in the first place. Did I think he was trying to kill himself? Did I think he was coming back to school?

  I had one answer for every Jack-related question: “I don’t know.”

  After the first week, it got to be a little less each day. Which is good because Jack came back to school two days ago, and I’m pretty sure he’s scared shitless. I would be if I were him.

  I don’t actually know how he feels though. I haven’t talked to him at all since the second time. I couldn’t think of anything else say so I just stayed away. I feel a little guilty about it but I don’t know why. It’s not like we’re really friends.

  I’ve seen him walking down the hall a couple of times and given him the nod. That slight tilt forward of the head that means “Hey man, I know you but not well enough to actually say anything to you.” He didn’t nod back—just kept on walking.

  “Hey! Are you sleeping or something?” Cody steps in front of me, forcing me to release the joystick abruptly so the chair stops before I run over him.

  Joystick. Not exactly the right word for the controller of the most boring chair in the known universe.

  “What are you doing? I almost ran over your stupid feet!”

  “I’ve been talking to you and you’re totally spaced out. So I’m trying to get your attention. Obviously.” He shakes his head with a you’re-an-idiot expression on his face.

  “I didn’t hear you. My chair makes too much noise.”

  “Whatever. Now that I have your attention, I’ll ask you again. Are. You. Coming. To. Practice?” He says it slowly, one word at a time, using hand gestures to emphasize each word as if he thinks he’s some kind of interpreter for the hearing impaired. Steve apparently told Cody to tell me that I should be coming to practice even though I can’t swim yet. He thinks I should stick to the routine and keep track of the team’s progress so I can just slip back in when I’m healed.

  Steve thinks a lot of things that I try to ignore. I am not getting up at five in the morning to not swim. But Cody has been bugging me to come to the after-school practices that we have. The community center with the pool in it is attached to our school so it’s no big deal to go, but I haven’t exactly been excited by the idea of sitting in my chair watching the other guys swim. I’ve been going to physio several days a week, and most of the time I manage to schedule it for swim days so that I don’t think about it.

  But today I actually have nothing to do.

  “I guess so,” I answer him in full Eeyore mode, which of course sets off Tigger again. Cody bounces about three feet in the air, raising his hand for a high five, which I can’t even reach. It doesn’t seem to bother him though. He just high fives the lockers and runs down the hall ahead of me.

  “Get that chair in top gear. Steve’ll fry our asses if you make me late,” Cody yells back at me as he rounds t
he corner, leaving me in his dust.

  This chair doesn’t have a top gear. It’s designed for eighty-year-olds. I can go so much faster in my own chair, and I seriously can’t wait to get it back. I’ve been working hard in physio, but my shoulder hurts like crazy still, and it’s so stiff I can’t even imagine being able to wheel my chair, let alone swim, any time soon. I’m trying not to feel sorry for myself, but it’s not working very well.

  “Well, well. The hero has returned. Glad to see you remembered who made you strong enough to rescue that boy in the first place.” Steve is standing with his arms crossed as I come onto the pool deck. He doesn’t look that happy to see me. Maybe Cody was lying about him asking to have me come back just so he could laugh at me when I did it.

  “Hi, Steve.” When talking to Steve, it’s best to keep your sentences short and not particularly sweet.

  “I assume you are planning on returning before the end of the term?” Steve asks, as if somehow I am choosing to miss practice instead of being stuck in my chair because of my shoulder.

  “Yes, sir,” I answer, just resisting the urge to salute with my good arm. Cody does it for me behind Steve’s back, which makes me grin.

  “Something funny about that?” Steve asks without turning around. Now, Cody makes a different kind of salute behind Steve’s back, and I have to bite my tongue so I don’t laugh.

  “No, sir!” I practically shout it, which seems to startle the coach. Cody laughs and flops backwards into the water. The other guys are already in the pool warming up. Steve looks at me for a second and then turns his attention to the team, ignoring me completely for the rest of practice.

  Watching people swim isn’t nearly as much fun as doing it. It’s hot in here and I’m literally itching to get out of my chair and into the nice cool water. I want to feel it splashing against my face as I pull myself through it, pushing my stupid shoulder out of its slump and back into shape. My whole body feels heavier than usual, held down by gravity, a sling, and an electric wheelchair.

  I need to talk to my physiotherapist again about water therapy. I’ve been suggesting it at every session, but she thinks it’s a bad idea for me because supposedly I’ll push it too hard and end up with more damage than is already there. I suspect this idea came from my mother, but she won’t admit it.

  This is seriously annoying. I think I’d rather do homework than sit here any longer.

  Cody talked me down here before I even got time to grab my books so I have to head out of the pool area and down to the connecting door between the two buildings, buzzing my chair through to the other side. The school seems completely empty. If I started to sing, I’m pretty sure my voice would echo off the lockers. If Cody was here, I’m sure he’d try it just to see. I’d rather leave it up to my imagination. I have a shitty voice. So does Cody, but that wouldn’t stop him.

  I wander down the deserted hall to my locker and open it to grab my books. I put them in the bag attached to my chair and check my phone. Practice will be over in a few minutes. I might as well go back and wait for Cody because I don’t feel like going home yet. I don’t actually want to do homework.

  I wheel back down to the community center door and push the door opener. Nothing. I lean forward and try the handle. Still nothing. Great. The school staff has locked it from this side, so now I have to go all the way around the outside of the school.

  The front door is the only one still unlocked so I head out through there and roll down the ramp, which is a hell of a lot faster in my manual chair and definitely more fun. I start to move across the pavement to the back of the school where there’s an unofficial smoking area, right beside the dumpsters where the super cool kids hang out and smoke while breathing in everyone’s garbage. As I move past it, keeping my distance and trying to hold my breath, I can hear voices. I don’t look over at first because I’m not all that interested in knowing who is still hanging out with the garbage at this time of day instead of going somewhere more interesting and less disgusting, but the voices are so loud and obnoxious that I can’t avoid hearing them.

  “Seriously, you need to tell me. What the fuck were you doing?”

  “Yeah, come on, you little fag. Everyone wants to know. What’s the big secret?”

  “Leave me alone. Please.”

  I’ve already made it past when the sound of the third voice makes me stop. I turn and look back over my shoulder.

  Shit.

  Jack is standing with his back up against one of the dumpsters. Two guys about twice his size are standing in front of him, obviously stopping him from leaving. I can’t see who they are from this angle, but I can still hear them as I get turned around and start back over to see what’s going on.

  “We’re not doing anything to you. We just want to know. I heard a rumor that you tried to off yourself because you’re queer. Is that true?”

  “Leave me alone.” Jack’s voice is shaking as he tries to move forward, which makes the two guys laugh. One of them pushes him back against the metal, hard enough that Jack’s breath whooshes out like a deflating balloon. The guy keeps his hand on Jack’s chest so he can’t move.

  “Just answer the question. We have the right to know if some fag is going to start hitting on us.”

  “Or if we’re going to find you floating in the pool some day because you decide to finish the job with no crip around to save you.”

  “Crip. That’s cool,” I say quietly as I come up behind them. They turn around and stare at me, looking surprised. Obviously they can’t focus on more than one thing at a time and didn’t hear me coming. I recognize them, but I can’t remember either of their names. They’re a year ahead of us in school. A couple of local assholes who think they run the place but really just walk around acting like complete losers. The type that the gargoyles in my story would like to eat for breakfast. They’re big though, so I guess that makes them think they’re tough.

  I’m not afraid of them. Even tough guys low on brainpower hesitate before doing anything physical to someone in a chair.

  “Who the fuck are you?” The guy holding Jack turns to look at me.

  “Seriously, Matt, are you a retard or what? He’s obviously the crip. Look at him!” The other asshole points at my legs. Matt kind of nods. He’s forgotten about Jack by now and is completely focused on me instead.

  “Oh, right. The big fucking hero. Think you’re special?” They’re both focused on me now, and I’m hoping Jack will realize that he can get away. But he just stands there, frozen to the side of the dumpster.

  “Hey, I asked you a question!” Matt yells in my face looking like he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with beating on someone in a chair.

  I stare at him instead of Jack, still trying to look like I’m not afraid, but I’m not that good an actor. I’m scared shitless. This guy actually wants to pound my face in. What am I supposed to do? I can’t exactly defend myself. I have one working arm and my legs only kick properly when they’re in the water. Jack seems to have turned to stone, which probably doesn’t make much difference because he’s a little guy and likely wouldn’t be much help.

  “Just let us go. Okay? What do you care about some stupid rumors anyway?” I keep my voice calm and mature sounding. I’m trying to channel my mother. Coming up with wise and wonderful words to diffuse the situation. I’m pretty sure it’s not working. They stare at me, unimpressed. I guess the people you’re trying to diffuse would need to actually have brains for reasoning to work with them.

  “We have a right to know who’s going to our school. We don’t have to put up with gays. Bad enough we have crips running around.” Matt shakes his head in disgust at the thought of all those crips running around.

  Obviously, words are not going to be the best weapons in my arsenal with these guys. Which doesn’t leave me with much.

  “Is he your boyfriend or something?” the nameless guy asks me.


  “Just let us go.”

  “Just answer the question.” He puts one hand on each arm of my chair and leans in. He’s got so many craters on his face that he looks like a bad picture of the moon. His breath smells worse than the dumpsters he likes to hang out at, a nice mix of rotten food and stale cigarette smoke. Maybe I should puke in his face. That might make him back off.

  I open my mouth to tell him to let us go again, but before I can get the words out, he flies backwards and spins away from me.

  “Hey, Shawn, how’s it hanging?” Cody says pleasantly as he shoves Craterface back against the dumpster beside Jack. Matt looks startled for a second but then lunges at Cody.

  “Don’t think so,” Peter says, as he steps into view and grabs Matt, who starts to struggle.

  “That’s less than a good idea.” Miguel steps up and helps Peter subdue Matt. The rest of the swim team is standing slightly behind, close enough for Matt and Craterface to realize that they’re outnumbered. Assuming they can count past two.

  On TV shows, it’s seems to be the football team that always comes to the rescue when someone is being bullied or whatever. The quarterback makes the dramatic entrance and saves the day. No one ever thinks about the swim team. Cody is not as big as Matt and Shawn, but he swims, like, eight times a week and works out every day to build up the strength in his arms. He could hold those assholes all day and not even break a sweat.

  Get the whole team together and you have a pretty unbeatable force.

  I feel a new story coming on.

  “You’re defending gays and crips now?” Matt asks Cody.

  “Nope. I’m just kicking your sorry ass. Screw off. Leave them alone. Permanently. We have their backs.” Cody gestures toward the rest of the team.

  “Who the hell are you guys?” Shawn asks, trying to still sound tough.

  “We’re the swim team, asshole. You bother either of these guys again and I’ll drown you in the fucking pool,” Cody says calmly, smiling at everyone as if we’re at some kind of tea party in the garden instead of having a fistfight at the dumpsters.